


Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day

by butterflymind



Category: Green Knowe Series - L. M. Boston
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/pseuds/butterflymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wonderful thing about Green Knowe is that there are always stories left to tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/gifts).



> No content warnings in particular, this work contains some religious themes, but they're no stronger than those in the original books.

_The evenings around Christmas, when the early dark tried to swallow the room and was driven back by the light of the candles, were perfect for stories. Mrs Oldknow knew this well, and delighted in having someone to tell them to again. When Tolly came to her in the evening it was always with questions, about the house and the family and himself, as keen to listen as she was to talk. He asked her once if she had ever seen St. Christopher walk, as Linnet and he had. She told him the old gentleman was often known to attend the mass on Christmas eve, just as Alexander had seen him in the churchyard. Then, he asked her why, which was a very good question indeed._

  


 **I. The Coventry Carol**

  


Roger Oldknow's first Christmas came in the midst of a hard winter. Snow blanketed the country for nearly a month, thawing and re-freezing until the roads were covered with treacherous layers of ice, hidden by the newest snowfall and waiting for any unwary traveller. Squire Oldknow had been called out of the county on urgent business a few days before, leaving his wife alone with only the servants and Roger's Grandmother for company in the Christmas season. Roger had been a sickly child since birth, but had seemed to improve over the Summer months, eating and growing well until his mother, who had been in dreadful fear of losing him since he was born, began to feel the first few glimmers of hope for the child.

  


However, two days before Christmas Roger suddenly took ill with a dreadful fever, becoming first fretful with a racking cough that shook his tiny body, and then more terrifyingly silent, flushed and breathing rapidly. His mother sent a servant for the doctor, but the state of the roads meant he did not reach them until nearly noon on Christmas eve, by which time Roger had ceased even to cry. The doctor told them frankly that there was nothing to be done, despite his mother's pleas, and suggested they send for the vicar. The Grandmother, who was a wise old woman, sent the doctor away with thanks and called immediately for the same servant they had sent previously, telling him this time to make for the vicarage as quickly as he could and to tell the vicar there, Piers Madeley, to make haste to Green Knowe. Then she returned with her daughter-in-law to her grandson's cradle, to nurse him as best she could. Mistress Oldknow was beside herself, it wasn't uncommon to lose a child in those days, but Roger was her first born, and she had just begun to believe that he might be getting better. After a while the Grandmother suggested that Mistress Oldknow should rest herself, she had been at the baby's side since he had taken ill and was clearly exhausted. She was reluctant to leave her child, as was only to be expected, but she was eventually persuaded to take a restorative and rest for a few hours in her room, at least until the vicar arrived. So it was that Roger was left in the care of his Grandmother, singing lullabies to soothe the feverish child. They sat the whole dark afternoon together, waiting for the vicar to arrive, as fresh snow began to fall outside the windows.

  


Night was falling when the vicar finally reached them, the glow on his cheeks and the dusting of snow covering his coat telling tale of the haste with which he had travelled to Green Knowe. Mistress Oldknow had returned to her son's side, and it was the Grandmother who guided Piers Madeley up the staircase to the room where Roger lay. By this time the child had fallen into a fitful sleep, somewhere between delirium and unconsciousness. Piers spoke to Mistress Oldknow, and together they said prayers for the child, praying for his soul as much as his deliverance. The vicar knew the case was almost hopeless, he had seen many a baby in the same sad state as young Roger Oldknow. But he gave himself leave to hope, for he was fond of the child. He sat with Mistress Oldknow for a while, then went down to speak to the Grandmother. As he descended the staircase he noticed the great wreaths of holly and ivy brought in to celebrate the Christmas season. They brought such vivacity to the room he thought, the promise of spring in the midst of winter. But it seemed almost cruel in the circumstances to be bringing such reminders of life eternal into the house at such a time. The Grandmother met him at the foot of the staircase, and bade him stay a while in the warmth of the house. Piers knew he should be returning to the vicarage, for there was much to do to prepare the church for the Christmas celebrations. But the snow was falling faster than ever, and the lively fire burning in the hearth made him even less inclined to return to the world outside the castle walls. Besides, he felt in his heart that young Roger would not be in this world for much longer, and he wanted to be available to Mistress Oldknow if he was needed.

  


He and Roger's Grandmother sat for a long time in relative silence, regarding each other with the expressions of people who knew what was soon to happen. They did not need to speak; instead they drank the ale that had been brought to them and remained engaged in their private thoughts. When Squire Oldknow was at home he insisted on giving Piers the fine wines he had imported, but if he was honest Piers preferred the familiarity of the plain ale, warm and comforting on any cold night. He wondered how it would be for the Squire, if Mistress Oldknow had sent word that the child was ill or if he would return to his son's burial with no prior warning. His thoughts turned dismally to funerals, to the many entries in the parish registers that listed the same souls being christened and buried within a few pages of each other. He wondered if the woman opposite him was thinking of the children she herself had buried, names recorded in the same parish registers by his predecessor. It was perhaps better that neither of them seemed inclined to share their thoughts, Piers considered, for it seemed to him that there was likely no comfort to be had in it for either of them. It was nearing midnight, and the candles had begun to burn low in their holders, when a servant suddenly burst into the room, in such a state of agitation that the door fair flew open. Piers rose to his feet quickly, assuming that it had finally happened. But when the lad caught his breath he realised that he was not one of the house servants but in fact his own, from the vicarage at Penny Soaky.

"If you please Sir" he began, gasping heavily for breath. Behind him one of the house servants caught up with him, scowling at the young man.

"Yes Tom, what is it?" He asked. The Grandmother, who was quicker on her feet than Piers had ever given her credit for, had poured some ale from the jug and was handing a cup to Tom. He took it gratefully and began to drink from it, then realised who had given it to him and attempted a sort of half bow with the cup still at his lips. For the first time that evening Piers saw a glint of amusement in the the Old woman's face. After a moment Tom was recovered enough to speak.

"Please Sir, it's the church. A fire broke out at the altar Sir, and the great cross and the altar cloth were burning." A cold lump formed in Piers' chest.

"Is the fire still burning?" He asked. To his relief Tom shook his head.

"No Sir, but they say you must come Sir, and instruct what is to be done about the Christmas celebrations." The boy was shaking, Piers realised, but he did not know if it was from the shock or the cold. "The great cross is all burned Sir, and it took ten men to put out the fire." Piers was already striding to the door, ready to find his thick cloak and return with Tom to the church, thoughts of Roger and his mother momentarily forgotten. As he reached the door he suddenly remembered and turned to face Roger's Grandmother, only to find her already at his elbow.

"You must go." She said simply. "We will call for you tomorrow if anything has changed." The expression on her face was one of steady sadness, a resignation that Piers understood better than he ever wished to.

"God be with you." He said by way of parting, and left with Tom through the heavy doors of Green Knowe. Helpless guilt followed him as they passed through the grounds of the great house, the need of being in more than one place at one time, of wanting both to go and to stay. As they passed the ruins of the house's own chapel the statue of St. Christopher caught Piers' eye. He paused before it, staring upwards for the moment at the face of the great Canaanite and the Christ child on his shoulders.

"St. Christopher, ease the crossing of this child, wherever he may go." He murmured, a hurried an inadequate prayer. Then he turned from the statue and followed Tom into the freezing darkness.

  


Late into the night, Roger's mother had fallen into an exhausted sleep by his cradle. His Grandmother had returned to the child's side and now watched the twitching, restless sleep of the infant. He was weak and still feverish, and experience told her this could not continue for much longer. Yet he continued to breathe, although his whole body seemed to shake with the effort. She bathed his tiny brow with cool cloths as his mother slept, hoping to bring some measure of peace to the child. As she glanced away from the cradle a flicker of movement caught her eye, moving outside the small window. She stood up and went to look out of the glass, into the darkened garden. For a moment she saw nothing through the snow, then suddenly it was there again, in the corner of the garden, almost beyond the edge of the window. Breath stilled, she watched as the great statue of St Christopher, carrying the Christ child, lifted his feet from the stone pool where they were planted and walked stiffly away, for all the world as if he were an old man taking his first few hesitant steps of the day. He left the garden, striding over the hedges that lined it, and she lost sight of him as he strode out across the fields. For a moment she was held mesmerised at the window, but then she remembered the child and returned to the cradle.

  


It was almost dawn when Piers Madeley finally inspected the burning embers of the cross and the altar cloth. The fire had been caused by a guttering candle, unwisely left burning it had fallen from its stand and onto the altar. The great wooden cross was ruined, barely more than ashes, and the best altar cloths, which had been laid out in preparation for the Christmas celebrations, were badly blackened. They were lucky he knew to have not lost the church or at least the altar, which had survived surprisingly unscathed. He thanked God for that small mercy. Yet still they were without a cross for the morning services, and so it was he found himself in the churchyard in the dark of the night, with some idea of fashioning a cross from the wood of the Cypress tree that grew there. As he came close to the great tree however, Piers saw the figure of a man kneeling amongst the gravestones. He paused, not quite sure whether or not he was dreaming, or if the smoke from the smouldering remains of the cross had addled his senses. A great man of stone prayed beneath the Cypress tree, the heads of both him and the child he carried on his shoulders bent in contemplation. Piers regarded the scene in silence, until the man finished and rose to his feet, steadying the child with one great stone hand. He turned and left the churchyard in silence, striding away from the village towards the lightening of the sky, where a weak winter dawn was just beginning to colour the world. Piers stood for a moment longer, then moved towards the Cypress tree. He found where the man had been kneeling two branches, laid together in a rough wooden cross. He reached out to touch them, then gathered them in his arms and took them into the church.

  


As the sun rose Roger's fever began to break, and he uttered first coughs and then weak cries that woke his mother from her slumber. She stared in wonderment at her child, who although still weak and breathing heavily, was looking at her with eyes that had lost the sheen of fever. His Grandmother moved away from the cradle to the window, leaving mother and infant together. In the early light she could see the statue of St. Christopher in his stone pool, as he ever had been. The rising sun reflecting on the snow drifts gave the whole scene colour, a pink blush to the hand the child held up to greet the dawn.

  


***

  


 _Tolly had been fascinated by the portrait from the first moment he had lain eyes on it. Mrs Oldknow never knew how that happened, how the important things in the house called out to people like beacons in the dark. Maybe it was because it was all important in its own time and place, and they saw it as they travelled, time solid and still within the house and them just passing through it. He asked about it, even though he already knew the occupants of the frame and their stories. Instead she told him about the picture itself._

  


 **II. I saw three ships**

  


When Captain Oldknow announced to his family that they were to have a portrait painted, it was a cause of much excitement to the children and their mother. Mrs Oldknow was very keen to keep up with the latest fashions, and family portrait painting had become very popular in England. Toby had hoped, secretly, that his father and brother meant to stay awhile so they too could be part of the painting, but in those days it could take many weeks to sit for a portrait, particularly if the artist was in great demand. However, before they left port the Captain arranged for a famous portrait painter to visit the family, and paid the man handsomely for his time. So the children, their Mother and Grandmother sat for the painter and after several weeks he left them to complete the portrait in his own workshop. Mrs Oldknow was very pleased with what she had seen of the picture, and hoped to see it ready by Christmas, as her husband had promised to try his best to reach home before the festive season.

  


It was the first week of advent when the news came. Mrs Oldknow had just completed her examination of the accounts for the estate when Toby came running into her sitting room, short of breath and with high colour in his cheeks. Immediately Mrs Oldknow thought of Alexander and Linnet, wondering what could possibly have happened to send Toby to her in such haste. He gulped air for a few seconds before telling her that a message had arrived from the Company of Merchants. Mrs Oldknow hurried to read the paper, for she knew that any news from her husband's company when he was so far from home was unlikely to bring glad tidings. As she had expected, the news was not good. Her husband's ship had been captured by Privateers in the East Indies, and of him and her son there was no word. By the time the news had reached England several months had passed from the event, and any more news would be subject to the same delay. Toby was watching his mother's face with a great deal of worry, for she had gone quite pale and had sat heavily in her chair. After a moment she asked him to find his Grandmother, and then to take Alexander and Linnet into the grounds until she called them in again. Toby was desperately curious, but also frightened, and obeyed his mother without a word.

  


Mrs Oldknow told first her mother-in-law, then the children the news. Linnet cried inconsolably, first on her mother's shoulder, and then her brother's. Both Toby and Alexander remained as calm as they were able, but she could see they were also fighting back tears. She considered it unwise to inform the servants or the estate workers about the fate of their master until it was confirmed, she didn't want rumours spread around the village, nor did she want the hindrance of more distant and opportunistic relatives who might come to lend their assistance if the news became generally known. She continued to oversee the day to day running of the estate, to see to the household and the tenant farmers. She had almost forgotten the portrait until it arrived, packed in wood and straw, a week before Christmas eve. Mrs Oldknow had it unpacked, but could not bear to see it hung just yet. Instead it was left in the music room, it's wooden case opened, with the five smiling figures staring out into the world. The boys wanted to avoid it, even Alexander, for whom it was usually the favourite room of the house. Only Linnet seemed unafraid of the portrait, and she would sit and stare at it for hours, with her little dog Orlando curled at her feet.

  


Linnet's fascination with the portrait vexed Toby greatly, for he had grown to hate the memory of his hope that his father and brother would be part of the picture. He would ask her to come away, try to entice her with tales of the animals and snow outside and then become angry and sullen when she would not oblige him. It was the day before Christmas eve when he passed by the music room again, only to find her for once not staring, but standing on a low wooden table, trying to reach the looking glass that hung on the opposite wall.

"What are you doing goose?" He asked, momentarily forgetting the portrait in his hurry to snatch Linnet down from her precarious position.

"I saw something in the glass." She said stubbornly, trying to wriggle out of his grip. Toby held on tight, eventually resorting to sitting down on the floor and taking Linnet with him, so he could hold her more firmly.

"Of course you did, it's a looking glass." He said grumpily, when she had stopped struggling. Linnet gave him a look of deep exasperation.

"I know that." She said. "I saw something in the picture in the glass."

"The picture in the glass?" He asked mockingly, "was it the room?" Linnet made a half hearted attempt to kick his shins.

"No. In the portrait, reflected in the glass. Something that isn't in the picture." She gestured to the painting, but Toby refused to turn his eyes to it.

"What did you see?"

"I don't know. I only saw it from the corner of my eye." She said, as if this was obvious. "So I wanted to get it down to have a better look." Toby looked at the glass on the wall, then at the little girl in his arms. She had no hope of ever reaching the mirror.

"It was probably just the light." Toby said, hauling himself to his feet and reaching for Linnet's hand. She stubbornly refused to take his however, and turned back to the picture.

"It wasn't. I saw it." She said, sitting down on the floor in the front of the painting. Orlando, who had been running around excitedly whilst they were tumbling about on the floor, immediately returned to sit close to her.

"Come outside goose." Toby said gently. "You're missing the rabbits falling over each other in the snow." He smiled at her but she refused to face him.

"I'll wait here until it comes again." She said, glancing between the picture and the glass, "and then I'll know what it was."

"It was just a trick of the light." Toby repeated.

"No it wasn't." Linnet said. She crossed her arms and nodded firmly, as if that settled it. Toby sighed, not wanting to stay in the room with the picture but also not wanting to leave Linnet alone with it for hours again. Finally, he relented.

"If Alexander and I get the glass down and show it was nothing, will you come outside?" He asked. Linnet's eyes lit up and she nodded, so he went in search of his brother.

  


Eventually the two of them managed to get the glass off the wall, although they were both deathly afraid of breaking it. Linnet, her eyes shining, told them to stand it in front of the portrait, so it could reflect the picture back exactly. They stood for a long time watching the glass, but it was only their own smiling faces staring back at them, first in the picture and then reflected in the mirror. After a while Alexander began to fidget, and the glass grew heavy in their hands.

"See goose?" Toby said, as they leant the glass against the low table. Linnet was still watching, but there was the glimmer of frustrated tears in her eyes.

"But I did see them, I did!" She exclaimed, almost crying. Alexander reached for her first, and she flung herself at his waist, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his shirt.

"Who did she see?" Alexander asked Toby. He shrugged his shoulders.

"She didn't say." he replied, moving carefully around the glass to join them. He wrapped his arms around them both and they stood together, waiting until Linnet's sobs turned to sniffles and then to little huffing breaths against Alexander's shirt.

"What did you see?" Toby asked softly. Linnet lifted her head to look at him, but then paused and nodded to the glass, her eyes lighting up.

"I saw that." She said, smiling. Toby and Alexander both turned to look at the reflection of the picture. The five of them stood, just as they always had done, but behind them in the mirror picture stood their father and brother, Aubrey standing tall and proud whilst Captain Oldknow rested a fond hand on his wife's shoulder. Their eyes darted back to the real picture, but it was unchanged. The image lasted for a moment or two more, and then disappeared from view, the glass reflecting back the room just as it was, and nothing more.

"What does it mean?" Alexander whispered. Linnet turned and laughed at him, shaking out her tousled curls.

"It means they're coming home silly." She said with confidence, "it means they'll be home for Christmas."

"It might not mean that." Toby said carefully, but Linnet was unperturbed.

"Of course it does." She said, and breaking out of Alexander's grasp she danced to the door.

"I'm going to watch them bring the Yule log in." She said. "Are you coming?" Toby and Alexander exchanged a glance. They could neither quite believe it, and yet the house was never a place of cruel magic. Coming to a silent agreement they carefully replaced the glass on the wall, then followed the tumbling footsteps of their sister down the stairs.

  


I needn't tell you that the Captain and Aubrey Oldknow arrived that very night, having been brought home by a passing company merchant ship after being stranded in the East Indies. The children's Grandmother fair wept with joy, and their mother smiled for the first time in weeks. Toby and Alexander were shocked, despite their forewarning, but Linnet was simply joyful.

"I knew you were coming." She said to her father, but he just laughed and patted her head. They hung the portrait the next day, where you see it now above the hearth and Linnet often stared at it, convinced she could see the shadow outline of two figures in the dark background.

  


***

  


 _One day, she knew, he would grow to old for stories. He was already growing quickly, gaining the stature of the Oldknow men with alarming haste. Yet he sat in a chair by the fire at age eleven just as he had at seven, bright eyes on her, alive with the magic of the house. She had told him the tale of the other green animals and how they came to be, but there was a question still bothering him, she could see it behind his eyes._

 _"We put up Feste's name plate today." He said. Mrs Oldknow nodded. She had had the wood carefully restored some time ago, but they had only just managed to find the time to put it in its rightful place. She could have asked Boggis to do it whilst Tolly was at school, but somehow that hadn't seemed right. Tolly still looked thoughtful. "How did it come to be lost? You said you hadn't seen it since before you were married." Mrs Oldknow smiled._

 _"It was lost before that." She said, "it fell from the stall when I was just a girl."_

 _"But you found it again?" Tolly prompted._

 _"Yes, but then it was lost for a second time."_

 _"How did you find it?" Tolly asked. Mrs Oldknow's smile grew wistful._

 _"I'll tell you another evening." She said finally. "It's almost time for bed." Tolly looked a little disappointed, but went up the stairs obediently enough. Left on her own with the crackling fire, Mrs Oldknow looked into the flames and remembered._

  


 **III. Away in a Manger**

  


She had been old to be married, nearly twenty-six by the time they had put up the bans. It was the early eighteen-nineties, and William was a young man with a good position that her Uncle thoroughly approved of. Marriage to her was a practical decision; she had no desire to give up either her name or the house, but William was willing to agree to those terms. Besides he was a good man, and she loved him as much as she thought herself capable of loving anything. That was the problem of Green Knowe, she thought. To grow up with all this magic and wonder made anyone from outside, from the other world as she sometimes thought of it to herself, seem almost flat in comparison. She hadn't told William about the world that Green Knowe created and she suspected that although he might live here when she inherited the house, he would never see it for himself. William was very steady, and very clever, but not a man of any great imagination. A few weeks after their engagement her Uncle had insisted on hosting a party at Green Knowe to celebrate. It was not the first time that William had come to the house, she had often invited him to come to tea and dinner when they were courting. But this would be the first full night he spent in the castle, the first time really that the place would get a chance to examine his character. She expected nothing, yet still she hoped a little that the magic wouldn't find him as wanting as she feared.

  


William arrived from London on the early evening train, along with several of her Uncle's business associates who he had invited down for the celebrations. William's own parents were in India, and Linnet had never even met them. They were of 'new money', she had been informed with snide concern by several of her friends during the early days of their courtship, and had been in the colonies for most of William's childhood. He had returned to England to attend school and university, and had stayed when he found a position in London. Privately, he had told her he preferred England to the heat and climate of India, but had never dared to reveal as much to his mother for fear of offending her. They arrived by horse and trap from the station at about seven o'clock, and her Uncle insisted on immediately serving drinks in the parlour, whilst they waited for dinner to be ready. Away from his London friends William was quieter than she had seen him, content it seemed to sit with her in almost silence whilst around them her Uncle's friends brought noise and bluster to the party. They seemed to have settled into a comparison of pocket watches, and Linnet was watching with some interest, wondering what they, with their talk of half-hunters and lever escapements, would make of the great clock in the dining room that had been brought back from the continent by Captain Oldknow sometime in the 18th Century. She would wager a fair amount they would make very little of it, if they noticed it at all. Suddenly William startled her by leaning over and speaking softly.

"I never knew there was so much to be boasted of in a watch." He murmured and Linnet smiled at him.

"How was the journey?" She asked, and he sighed.

"They talked of shipping companies." He said with an air of melancholy, "and little else. Only the thought I was coming to see you made it bearable at all."

"Well now you are here, and we shall probably have horology for most of the evening." She replied. William gave her a look of mock horror.

"Surely there is some escape." He said. Linnet paused to think for a moment.

"There are always the stables, if you don't mind the horses." To her slight surprise an odd look of longing passed over William's face.

"There are horses?" He asked. Linnet laughed, surprised.

"Has my Uncle never taken you to see them? Usually we cannot stop him from showing them to half the county if he is left unattended."

"He's never shown them to me." William replied, sounding almost put out.

"Maybe he thought you had no desire to see them. I suppose he thinks a colonial childhood doesn't breed an interest in such things."

"There were horses at school." He said defensively. "I used to spend hours in the stables there." His face had taken on a dreamy expression that Linnet had never seen before. For a second she felt her heart lift and she took his hand without thinking about it.

"After dinner then, when the ritual of port and cigars is completed." She smiled at him. "Uncle will be glad to show you, he delights in his horses."

  


As she had expected, dinner passed with much discussion of the minutiae of modern watch-making and none of the wonders of the great antique clock. One of her Uncle's friends had referred to it in passing as an example of an 'unfashionable style' at which Linnet had almost spat out her soup with a surprised bark of laughter. She had just managed to cover the slip with her napkin and had looked up to find both her Uncle's and William's eyes on her, startled to see the same expression of fond amusement on both their faces. After dinner Linnet took to the drawing room alone, as the only woman in the party, and sat her to her embroidery with a feeling of relief. There were perhaps twenty minutes of peace before the men emerged and her Uncle made his way towards her.

"Your fiancé wishes to see my horses." He said, a glint of amusement in his eye. She smiled at the old shared joke.

"Shall I come to keep you company?" She asked, but her Uncle shook his head.

"I shall enjoy the chance to see more of him." He said and she sighed the long suffering sigh of those who lie under heavy paternal protection. He smiled at her, unrepentant. "Will you be able to entertain our guests in my absence?" Linnet glanced around at the collection of portly middle-aged men her Uncle had assembled, who had consumed more good wine than they were probably accustomed to and were now comparing the relative worth of their various businesses in tones that suggested they believed they were conversing in a busy railway station.

"I would imagine they will entertain themselves perfectly adequately." She said to her Uncle.

"Quite so." He replied. He turned and caught William by the elbow as he was manoeuvring around the room towards Linnet. "Come on my boy." He said to him. "Let me show my other prides and joys."

  


They were gone for longer than Linnet was expecting, and by the time they returned it was almost time for their guests to depart and for her to retire. William had re-entered the house with the same dreamy expression he had worn earlier, only sharper and more pronounced. Her Uncle had been smiling widely, and she knew without asking that the trip to the stables had only improved William in her Uncle's estimation. By the time the other guests had been seen into a trap that would return them to the station Linnet was quite exhausted, and eager for her own bed. Her Uncle too was tired, but William's eyes were alight in a way she had never seen.

"The bay mare is a beautiful creature." He said as they ascended the stairs, Linnet leading him to the room where he would spend the night.

"My Uncle acquired her as part of a wager." She replied, as they reached the top of the staircase. William grinned.

"I know, I think he must have told me the story of every horse in the stable."

"Every horse?" Linnet asked, her heart jumping to her throat for no good reason.

"Yes. He told me everything I think, but he couldn't explain the empty stall. Seems a waste, you could fit another good sized Stallion in that stable. But your Uncle said it's always kept empty for some reason." Linnet's heart settled again.

"Yes. It always has been." She said, feeling slightly disappointed, but for no reason she could fathom. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." William said and left her with a kiss on the cheek and a fond press of her hand. Linnet retreated to her own bedroom and the warmth of her bed. It took her a long time to fall asleep.

  


It was two o'clock in the morning when Linnet startled awake. She knew that before she even glanced at the clock on her wall, for the chiming of the dining room clock had woken her. That in itself was odd, for she had lived her whole life in the same house as that clock and it had never previously disturbed her. She lay still for a moment, orientating herself with the familiar smells and sounds of her home. Suddenly she heard an unfamiliar creak of the door and froze, the creak was followed by the sound of soft footsteps and she realised with a start that William must have left his bed for some reason, and was now descending the stairs. Without thinking she slipped out of her own bed and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers to follow him. She tip-toed down the stairs and saw him standing near the door to the garden, still in his pyjamas and slippers, but holding a coat she had never seen before. As she watched he lifted the latch and opened the door, then stepped out into the crisp night air. She followed as he crossed the lawn and headed for the stables, wondering what he was doing. Was he sleep walking? Was he a thief, stealing out of their house at night with some of their precious treasures? The last thought made her heart clench in two directions at once.

  


To her surprise and relief she saw him give the great green man on the lawn a wide berth, as if he knew to be afraid of him. She followed his path exactly, having no wish to come too close to the old gentleman in the dark. Finally they reached the stable door and William opened it with a practised hand, as if he had been doing such things for years. Again the fear clutched at her, was he not who he said he was after all? She watched him as he passed along the rows of stalls, saw the horses wake from their fitful standing sleep to snort and nuzzle at him. They did the same to her when she passed by, but William still seemed to be totally unaware of her presence. Finally he stopped at the empty stall at the end of the row and unlatched the door. In a flash of inspiration Linnet understood and she dropped her gaze down to the floor, no longer looking at the stall. Sure enough she heard the snorting and rustling of another horse in the stable. From the corner of her eye she caught the flick of a great chestnut tail and an imperious head, but she knew better than to look straight at him. This after all, was not for her. After a few moments there was silence again and Linnet raised her eyes to find William staring at her.

"Linnet?" He asked uncertainly. She came towards him and took his hand.

"I see you have met Feste." She said smiling. William shook his head as if to clear it and looked down at the coat in his hands.

"It was on my bed. I don't remember how I came to be down here with it." He said, confused. He looked into the empty stall. "He was a beautiful horse." He said. Linnet squeezed his hand.

"He was the most wonderful of horses." She said. "And that's his master's coat you have there." William passed the coat to her, then to her surprise he knelt amongst the straw and felt about for a moment. When he straightened again he held a board in his hands. The name 'Feste' was painted on it in swirling, ornate letters. Wordlessly, he handed it to Linnet, who smiled.

"I haven't seen that for a long time." She said. She placed the board carefully in the iron manger that hung on the wall. Then she gently tugged on William's hand and led him out of the stall, leaving the coat behind them.

"Shouldn't we take that with us?" He asked as he left.

"It's owner will come and collect it." She replied. "But he's nervous of strangers." As they crossed the lawn William looked at her wide eyed.

"I'm not quite certain what's been happening." He admitted in an uncertain voice. Linnet couldn't help but laugh.

"This house likes you." She said simply. "And so do I."

  



End file.
